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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853606">Speak Russian To Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeburchard/pseuds/zoeburchard'>zoeburchard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Speaking Russian, bow chika wow wow but not really, i don't speak russian, naked in bed, sorry about google translate, story time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:35:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27853606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeburchard/pseuds/zoeburchard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the quote from the book:</p><p>"It was interesting to see the change that came over Boris when he was speaking another language- a sort of livening, or alertness, a sense of a different and more efficient person occupying his body."</p><p>Theo likes how it sounds when Boris speaks Russian. Lying in bed one lazy afternoon he asks Boris to speak to him, not even caring that he doesn't understand a word.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Theodore Decker &amp; Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Speak Russian To Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm so sorry, I used google translate to do all the Russian. I wasn't gonna put it in there but I wanted that 'I have no fucking clue what he's saying' feeling, but then also I wanted you all to know what he was saying. </p><p>This is the first time I haven't actually edited something. This just came to me on a whim, I wrote it up real quick and here it is. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I leaned up on my elbow, the blanket falling down to my waist. “Boris.”</p><p class="p1">Propped up against the headboard reading, he looked like a poet in a film. He took a drag of the cigarette we were sharing, lazily turning his head toward me. “Da?”</p><p class="p1">Black curls stuck out in every direction, long, longer than they had been when we were children. I couldn’t help myself. I slid across the bed, marking his place in the book, putting it on the night stand and half laying on top of him. I traced circles on his chest looking up at him through my glasses. He took another drag.</p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p1">Since Boris had showed up on Hobie’s doorstep in the pouring rain 6 months after Amsterdam saying he couldn’t live without me (in full ear shot of all the neighbors and Hobie himself) we had been (nearly) inseparable. He had looked like a drowned dog on the stairs, and more nervous than I had ever seen him. Coat forgotten wherever he had run from, he shivered but wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to invite him in. Most of what he said came out in Russian, I think it was easier for him to say. I didn’t understand a word except <em>ya lyublyu tebya, (</em>a phrase I had memorized years before in a drunken state, alone, when Boris had abandoned me for Kotku). At which point my heart stopped, my face turned tomato red, and all I could say is, “I have no clue what you just—“ and then he took my face between his hands, pulled me towards him and kissed me and if I hadn’t already been breathless at his confession, that would have knocked all the air right out of my lungs.</p><p class="p1">When he pulled back I saw so much fear in his eyes. The fear I had had years ago standing across from him in the driveway saying goodbye hoping it wasn’t the last time I’d ever see him. “Boris, I—“ half of me wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms and kiss him until we both suffocated. The other half of me was screaming that this couldn’t be, that it was wrong and what would people think.</p><p class="p1">Boris’ eyes were sad, “Theo, whole lives we dance around this, pretending there is no meaning to our actions.” He stroked a thumb over my cheek, the porch light bathing him in gold, and whispered, “Theo, is just me. Has always been just us. Nothing to fear now.” Pressing his forehead against mine, holding the back of my neck with one hand and my face with the other I could feel his heart beat in time with mine at every point of connection.</p><p class="p1">Looking down between us, my fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, as usual, unbuttoned halfway down his chest. The sight of his bare skin made it hard to think clearly. I closed my eyes. <em>Theo</em> he said so quietly. I had never heard him say my name so many times and I thought I never wanted to hear anyone else say it ever again after hearing it in his voice. “Tell me one more time,” I said quietly, unconsciously gripping his shirt tighter and tighter. It was as though if I heard it one more time perhaps that would give me the courage I needed. (Just as I had once thought, if I asked him one more time to leave with me, maybe he would have.)</p><p class="p1">Even with my eyes shut I could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke in Russian, “ya lyublyu tebya.” I inhaled deeply letting the words wash over me, giving me goose bumps all up my arms and over my neck. The rain that had soaked through his clothes was soaking mine too, but all I could feel was the heat radiating off of him where our bodies touched.</p><p class="p1">“I love you too, Boris.” We both laughed, holding each other, Boris kissing my cheeks, my neck, my nose.</p><p class="p1">Something soft and warm was draped over my shoulders, “You should come inside, boys, it’s freezing out there and you’re both soaking wet.” Boris smiled a wide toothy grin, entwining our fingers, as Hobie lead us inside.</p><p class="p1">-</p><p class="p1">“Can we talk?” I asked running my forefinger across his bottom lip. He kissed my finger.</p><p class="p1">“Sure, Potter.” He still used my old nickname and that felt significant.</p><p class="p1">“Will you speak in Russian?” An eyebrow lifted as he tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette into an old brass ashtray I had found at a flea market.</p><p class="p1">“You do not speak so well, will not understand,” his hand pushed through my hair affectionately. “Your conversational Russian- not so conversational.”</p><p class="p1">I placed a soft kiss on his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his hand in my hair. “Yes, it’s pedestrian at best, but I love how your voice sounds when you speak it. You change when you speak languages besides English. You seem more natural.”</p><p class="p1">He feigned offense, “You are saying my English bad? Potter, you injure me deeply!” A small smile crept across my lips, he knew his English wasn’t perfect. “What should I say? You have put me in the spot.”</p><p class="p1">I thought for a moment. I hadn’t made it that far in my mind. “How about I ask you questions and you answer in Russian?” He shook his head and took another drag.</p><p class="p1">“If it makes you happy, Potter, sure. Ask your questions.” I walked my fingers up to his collarbone, running my hand back and forth across it.</p><p class="p1">“Okay- what is your earliest memory?”</p><p class="p1">He put the cigarette between my lips- he’d certainly need to use his hands for this story. “<em>Ya byl takim malen'kim. Ne pomnyu skol'ko let. YA iskal svoyu mamu, krichal ‘mama, ty gde?’ No ona ne otvetila. YA obyskal ves' dom, tak ispugalsya, chto s ney sluchilos' chto-to plokhoye. Kogda ya nakonets nashel yeye, ona poteryala soznaniye na kushetke, rvota na polu, temnyy sinyak na sheye. YA ne znal, chto sluchilos' i vse li s ney v poryadke, poetomu zalez na divan i svernulsya vokrug neye. Dumayu, ya khotel zashchitit' yeye, no ne znal, kak.”</em></p><p class="p1">(I was so small. I don’t remember how old. I was looking for my mother, calling out “mother, where are you?” But she did not answer. I searched the whole house, so scared something bad had happened to her. When I finally found her, she was passed out on the couch, vomit on the floor, a dark bruise on her neck. I didn’t know what had happened or if she was okay so I climbed up on the couch and curled up around her. I think I wanted to protect her, but I didn’t know how.”)</p><p class="p1">He looked so sad. I had no idea what he had said. I picked up a few words- mother, small, house. As sad as he looked, his voice was so beautiful. I threw a leg over his waist and straddled him. Threading an arm around his neck, the other resting on his shoulder, cigarette still between my fingers, I played with the hair at the nape of his neck. He lifted just his eyes to look at me as his hands rested on my bare thighs. I said nothing.</p><p class="p1">“Next question, Potter.” His voice was low and deep, uncharacteristically serious. I wondered what he had said, but I didn’t want to ask him to repeat it.</p><p class="p1">“Uh, yeah.” I looked down at the sheets. I thought about things he might not normally tell me, things he could talk about with me if I couldn’t understand. “Who was the first man you killed?”</p><p class="p1">Running a hand through his hair he shook his head, ‘Fuck, Potter, I thought would be questions like,” he gestured wildly, “‘Where will we eat dinner, Boris? What film should we watch, Boris? What is favorite day of week, Boris?’ Not ‘What is deep dark secret, Boris?’!” Head turned away from me, he eyed me sideways. He took my wrist and pulled my hand down his chest until the tips of my fingers ghosted over a long scar on his side. I had seen it before, touched it even, but Boris never talked about his scars and I never asked.</p><p class="p1"><em>“Mne bylo 17 let. Prinimal narkotiki, kotoryye dolzhen byl prodavat'. YA byl dolzhen postavshchiku deneg, a kogda ona prishla zabrat', mne nechego bylo yey dat'. Skazal yey, chto poluchu yey den'gi. Ona dostayet nozh - ya dumayu, ona byla tak zhe vysoka, kak i ya - i idet, chtoby udarit' menya. Ona propuskayet pervyye paru udarov, no potom rezhet menya zdes’,</em>” his hand on top of mine traced the scar, up and back down again, up and back down again. <em>“Ya upal na zemlyu, skhvativshis' za bok. Ona opustilas' na menya, chtoby zakonchit' rabotu. Mne udalos' otorvat' yeye ot sebya i skhvatit' yeye nozh.” </em>He paused, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, “Eto byla samooborona.”</p><p class="p1">(I was 17. Took the drugs I was supposed to sell. I owed money to the supplier and when she came to collect I had nothing to give her. Told her I would get her money. She takes out a knife- I think she was as high as I was- and goes to stab me. She misses the first couple of jabs, but then she slices me here. I fell to the ground grasping my side. She got down on top of me to finish the job. I managed to wrestle her off of me and get ahold of her knife. It was self defense.)</p><p class="p1">He let go of my hand, rubbing his forehead. “Why you ask these kinds of questions, Potter? You do not even understand.” Massaging his forehead, he took one last drag of the cigarette and leaned forward, long fingers gently holding my chin. His eyes were searching mine. “You like me to talk so much? As kids you were saying always, ‘Shut the fuck up, Boris.’” He tilted his head and I stared at his lips- parted a little, his stark white teeth showing. I didn’t have to be subtle anymore, my feelings weren’t a secret between us.</p><p class="p1">“When did you first know you loved me?” He leaned back again, this time smiling.</p><p class="p1">“This is better question. It was—“ I cut him off.</p><p class="p1">“No, in Russian.”</p><p class="p1">Putting his hands up he said, “Okay, okay!” Before he began, he wrapped his arms around me and sat up straighter so our bare chests were pressed together. I curled my legs around his back. “Okay, Theo.” And he began.</p><p class="p1">“Eto byli dva momenta, kotoryye zastavili menya priznat'sya sebe, chto ya lyublyu tebya. Pervoye - ty menya zhdal, Teo. YA ne ozhidal, chto ty ostanesh'sya, i ya ne ozhidal, chto ty voydesh'. No v tu pervuyu noch' ty stal svidetelem togo, kak moy otets bil menya, ty podozhdal menya snaruzhi i otvel obratno v svoy dom. Navernoye, bylo strashno videt' vse eto, no ty ne ushel. YA pomnyu, kogda ya uvidel tebya snaruzhi, nesmotrya na vsyu bol' vnutri i snaruzhi, vnutri byla legkost', kotoruyu ya ne sovsem ponimal, no ya znal, chto eto svyazano s toboy.”</p><p class="p1">(It was two moments that got me to admit to myself I was in love with you. The first- you waited for me, Theo. I didn’t expect you to stay, and I didn’t expect you to come in. But that first night you witnessed my dad beat me, you waited outside for me and took me back to your house. It must have been terrifying to see all that, but you didn’t leave. I remember, when I saw you outside, despite all the pain inside and out, there was a lightness inside that I didn’t quite understand but I knew it had to do with you.)</p><p class="p1">He paused and stroked my cheek. His lips met my neck, his teeth nipped at my ear. This question had changed his mood drastically. I got shivers as he slid his hands up my thighs again, this time reaching around to squeeze my ass. When I reached up to hold his face so I could kiss him, he dodged away from my grasp to kiss the front of my neck. “No,” another kiss, “Not done yet.” Another kiss.</p><p class="p1">“Kogda ya znal navernyaka, eto kogda ty pokazal mne svoyu ptitsu. Vy byli p'yany, ne v svoyem ume. No ty tak lyubil etu ptitsu, ty tak lyubil svoyu mamu. Vy skazali mne, kak eto bylo osobennym dlya vas - vashe samoye tsennoye imushchestvo. Posle togo, kak vy pokazali mne, chto vy byli takimi emotsional'nymi, plakali, govorya, chto ne dumali, chto kto-to kogda-nibud' polyubit vas tak, kak ona. Eto bylo tak bol'no, potomu chto pryamo togda ya znala, chto lyublyu tebya togda i budu lyubit' tebya vechno. YA potseloval tebya, ty potseloval menya v otvet. Potom my oba plakali. Nikto iz nas nichego ne skazal, no ya derzhal tebya, a ty derzhal kartinu. YA ukral yego vskore posle etogo, potomu chto, yesli by ty mog tak sil'no lyubit' yego, ya podumal, mozhet byt', ya smogu pochuvstvovat' tvoyu lyubov' cherez eto, chto chast' tvoyey lyubvi k tvoyey materi, k kartine, kotoraya znachila dlya tebya vse, koye-chto iz etogo peredalos' by mne.”</p><p class="p1">(When I knew for sure was when you showed me your bird. You were drunk, out of your mind. But you loved this bird so much, you loved your mother so much. You told me how special it was to you- your most treasured possession. After you showed me you were so emotional, crying, saying you didn’t think anyone would ever love you like she did. It hurt so much because right then I knew I loved you then and that I would love you forever. I kissed you, you kissed me back. Then we were both crying. Neither of us said anything at all but I held you and you held the painting. I stole it shortly after because if you could love it so much, I thought maybe I could feel your love through it, that some of your love for your mother, for the painting that meant everything to you, some of that would transfer to me.)</p><p class="p1">His voice was like a dream- so confident and smooth when he spoke a language he knew so well. I wanted to know what he was saying, but at the same time I could feel the meaning of his words. I knew someday he would tell me the story, but for now I was content to hear it in his voice, his heart fully behind every word he chose to speak, the meaning not lost in translation. I understood him as he had always understood me.</p><p class="p1">“Ya lyublyu tebya, Borys.” He beamed at me, eyes full of life.</p><p class="p1">“Your pronunciation is pretty good, Potter.”</p><p class="p1">I grabbed his face, “You can shut the fuck up now, Boris,” and I kissed him full on the lips, grinding my hips into his as he pulled me tight against him.</p>
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